


A Study in Cross-Cultural Courtship

by TheSpaceCoyote



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, including frotting scruffing and eventually The Big Sex, non-sburb AU, rating will go up with eventual sexy stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-02-14
Updated: 2012-07-30
Packaged: 2017-10-31 04:08:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 16,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/339721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSpaceCoyote/pseuds/TheSpaceCoyote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After years of chatting online, Dirk finally convinces Jake to leave his island and come embrace the civilized world. However, the transition doesn't go as smoothly as Dirk had thought it would--as he soon discovers that while it is simple to take the boy out of the jungle, it is exponentially harder to take the jungle out of the boy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> More DirkJake! This one will hopefully be a longer fic. Basically, me and my buddy got to talking about Jake still having some "wild" characteristics that don't mesh too well with modern mainland life. And, well....it's been a lot of fun to write and flesh out, to say the least!
> 
> Eventual sexy shenanigans will occur. Precursors to it are here in this chapter, and more is to come....
> 
> Preemptively apologizing for Dirk, he is rather difficult to write! I will work on him further.

 

Jake is civilized enough, what with his crisp accent and lilting consonants and charming smile. He can pass as a normal kid most of the time with no indication to the wiser that he has lived most of his life on an desert island before you brought him to your shitty little Houston apartment. 

But there is a wild side to Jake that you definitely can’t ignore, especially not when it presents itself so fiercely. Most of his hair-trigger instincts, such as shooting the toaster the first time you made him breakfast, had largely gone away after the first few weeks, but something _deeper_ \--something more primeval--definitely still remains entrenched inside the English genome.

You see a glint of it whenever you give in and participate in one of his wrestling boughts—you know how antsy Jake gets when he has nothing to do, and sometimes the treadmill you bought for him isn’t enough to expend all his boundless energy. So you routinely engage Jake in some of his beloved “scrums,” and for the first few weeks he beats you easily, bright and victorious smile plastered on his face as he grabbed you into a tight lock until you shouted uncle. 

However—despite all of Jake’s boasts and bluster you learn that he has several glaring weaknesses when it comes to wrestling. He is enthusiastic and strong but you soon learn that when you either work his arm behind his back or pin him down he is entirely helpless, unable to shake you off and get himself free. 

You tuck that bit of information away for a later date—much, _much_ later if the glaringly romantic blackhole that is Jake English doesn’t wise up and figure out that maybe those ironic midnight blanket fort snuggles weren't all that ironic after all. Because you have to admit, even the sizeable irony woven into those Fluttershy bedsheets can't cover up the stupendous slew of obvious indications that you think of Jake as more than just an interesting jaunt through the intricacies of inter-cultural understanding.  

It’s a combination of things that brew your feelings for Jake into a thick dark draft beer of homolust—his eyes, his voice, his hair, his silly endearing accent. You never think it’s his wildness that appeals to you until one particular incident. 

It’s a hot day made even hotter inside your cluttered apartment, and the air conditioner is broken because despite all his money your Bro can’t get off his lazy Hollywood ass and fix it, so to compensate Jake takes off his shirt as you slip your ratty black wife beater up over your head, casting them both over the arm of the couch. 

The heat makes Jake sweat and makes his blood boil, and sooner or later he is pacing energetically about the apartment, sitting down and then getting up again moments later. You watch him a little as he rolls around on the floor, whining. He looks up at you upside down, kicking his legs petulantly into the air. 

” ‘S far too hot to simply faff about, here! Dirk, old boy, what say you to a quick bout of fisticuffs, mmm?”

You shrug a bit and mumble noncommittally, ignoring Jake until he rolls over onto his stomach and crawls over to you, a pout set on his face. You keep on ignoring him until he settles his chin on top of your knee, tilting his head and looking at you with those big damn green eyes. 

 _Fuck._ There's no way you can say no to that stupid doofy puppy dog look.

 So you push yourself up off the couch as Jake bolts to his feet, excitedly hopping from his left to his right. He's already in position, hands balled up in front of him. You sigh, getting into a ready position as well, hands clawed and ready for the moment Jake lunges forward at you, eyes practically glowing with bursting energy. 

He goes for your forearms, trying to incapacitate you as quickly as he can, but you managed to grab and lock your fingers with his, holding him off. He lets out breathy noise that's a cross between a laugh and a pant as he tries to break free of your grip, throwing his weight against you in an attempt to knock you off balance, but you're already familiar with Jake's tricks, and you ain't falling down to that one. Quickly you shift your weight to the side and instead it's Jake who loses his balance, pitching forward a bit and giving you enough of a grace period to flashstep behind him, twisting one arm behind his back as you grab the other wrist, restraining them both against spine. 

Jake lets out a surprised gasp, struggling around and trying to break free from your grip. You hear a couple of colorful Jakeisms burst from his lips as he tries to pull away from you, but you hold firm. 

You expect Jake to slow down,stop struggling, and reluctantly declare defeat in the face of your wickedly superior skills, but instead his movement intensifies until he's practically thrashing around. He brings up his leg and stomps repeatedly on your foot, scraping his heel against your shin and making you hiss in pain. But you don't let go--you don't plan on letting go until Jake at least calms down enough. But it doesn't look like that is happening anytime soon.

You're normally pretty cool and collected in these type of situations, but when Jake tosses his head and lets out what is definitely a _snarl_ the pit of your stomach curls a bit in the definitely un-Striderlike feeling of fear. 

Tightening your grip on his wrists, you lean forward a bit, your chin brushing his shoulder and your nose just barely touching his ear as you try to whisper and calm him down from his frenzy. 

"Shhh, Jakey, c'mon dude--chill out."

You're a bit worried, because in the past when you've been tussling and Jake gets into one of his wild boy moods, he will do nearly anything to escape your hold, including hurting himself in his desperation to get free. You're pretty sure if Jake had a limb trapped under a rock like in one of his shitty nature movies he wouldn't even wait an hour for the rescue choppers to arrive before gnawing off his own arm. 

Right now his thrashing is getting a bit dangerous, as you can feel his wrist starting to twist in your grasp, and as you're just about to let go of him Jake rears back with a growl, the back of his head smacking into your chin and automatically making you lose your grip. 

Your hand flies up to your face but before you can even begin to assess the damage you are tackled to the floor as Jake pounces on you. Jake immediately goes for your wrists and tries to pin you down as he straddles your waist; and his clothed crotch is rubbing up against your bare abs and he's sweating and growling and showing off his teeth and, and _fuck_ \--

Fuck, this is getting really, _really_ stupidly hot really fast. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After years of chatting online, Dirk finally convinces Jake to leave his island and come embrace the civilized world. However, the transition doesn't go as smoothly as Dirk had thought it would--as he soon discovers that while it is simple to take the boy out of the jungle, it is exponentially harder to take the jungle out of the boy.

 

 

As you struggle with Jake, you feel something wet on your cheek and belatedly you realize that Jake is drooling on you, saliva pooling in his open mouth and dribbling over his chin and onto your face.  

_Holy. Shit._

This is hot, fuck, but it's not right--Jake isn't in the right state of mind and he doesn't even know _what_ he is doing and why it's so--

You swear and try to buck up, managing to throw him a bit off his balance, and you quickly plant your palms on his chest and push him up and off of you. Immediately you're up, stumbling to your feet and taking off. 

You soon hear Jake's pounding footsteps behind you, turning your head briefly just to see him leap over the couch and take off after you, eyes still wide and seething with adrenaline. 

 _Fuck, you need some place where you can pull yourself together and plan your next move_.

Out of the corner of your eye you see the bathroom door slightly ajar and you race towards it, feet skidding on the tile as you slide inside, turning about and slamming the door in Jake's face. You lock it mere seconds before the entire door shakes with the force of 170 pounds of English slamming against it. You hear Jake shouting, voice breathy and taunting as he calls you yellow-bellied, unsporting, and worse, but the deadbolt still holds despite all of your wild friend's best efforts. You slide to the floor, only then realizing how out of breath you are (and the fact that you're trembling ever so slightly) as your chest heaves in painful gasps. Jake pounds on the door again, making the deadbolt rattle against the lock.

"Come on boyo! I'm not done with you yet! I'm rather fond of this round of wrassling!"

You shake your head, and take a deep breath in and out before replying. 

"No thanks, English. I think I'll save the jungle boy molestation for another day."

You sit on the floor trying to recollect your undeniably frazzled cool as Jake continues to treat the door like an opposing linebacker, but eventually the shudders grow farther and farther apart, until they eventually stop. You wait for a couple moments, listening instantly, but you hear nothing.

"Jake?" You ask, voice still hoarse from heavy breathing, but you get no reply. You crawl forward on the tile and press an ear against the door, listening for any movement, any breathing, any sign that Jake is just trying to lure you in and pounce on you the moment you leave the sanctity of the bathroom. But you hear nothing. 

You briefly wonder if maybe Jake found a way out of the apartment and is now running wild around Houston, so you call out again. Still nothing. 

Worried but wary, you get up and walk over to the toilet, removing the top of the tank and setting it aside. You reach in, pulling out one of the many swords you have hidden around the house and shaking off the water. You crouch down again, flat on your stomach next to the door as you slide the blade underneath it, using the reflection in the flat side to check for any signs of English. You tilt it around, but you don't see him. 

 _All right_.

You rise to your feet, sword still held at a ready as you slowly, cautiously unlock the door, pushing it open. 

When you're not attacked and pounced upon right away, you slowly move out of the bathroom. You look to the right--coast is clear. Then you look to the left and--

And a blur of tan and khaki slams into your side. You lose your grip on your sword and it goes skidding away from you as you're thrust to the floor and once again immobilized under Jake's weight. But hell _no_ , this time you aren't going down without a fight. 

You surge your head forward, your forehead connecting with Jake's lip in the hope that this will shock him back in reality and be worth the pain now reverberating through your skull.  

Through the lights bursting in your eyes, you can see Jake lick the blood off his lip, smearing it with saliva over his chin. You are reminded of the nature documentaries you put on for Jake sometimes and you realize that this is probably a lot like what the slowest water buffalo sees in its last couple moments. 

The blow to his lip doesn't seem to calm Jake at all--instead, you see a bright, more feral glow in his eyes and _oh shit, this is_ ** _bad_. **

****

All right. No more games. No more playing and fisticuffs and whatnot, you _have_ to get Jake to chill. 

You croon and chitter to him a bit, keeping his hands away from your throat as you try to keep him from getting anymore riled up.

"Hey, Jakey, Jake boy, shhh…"

But Jake still looks alive and wild-eyed, his face flushed with adrenaline and ears closed against your soothing words. Finally you throw away his wrists and shove your hands against his shoulders, pushing him up and away from you as you rise to your knees, holding Jake at bay as he scrabbles for your neck. Using him as leverage you push yourself to your feet, clumsily hop-skipping backwards, jumping out of read as he claws after you. 

 You're a bit more collected, now, and you can easily flashstep ahead of him as he races after you, skipping to the side whenever he lunges.

He's obviously trying to get you riled up, the way he shouts and taunts you, but you aren't buying it. You keep just out of his reach, trying to see if he'll get frustrated or tired out enough to stop chasing you and trying to wrestle you the ground. 

Jake practically _throws_ himself at you, and you manage to grab at his hands, locking your fingers with his and holding him away from you. Jake jumps into a secure, balanced stance, holding his ground. Jake has always been bad about keeping his nails trimmed, and they dig into the back of your hands as he fights you, trying again to shove you down on to the floor.  

You see him bare his teeth again, pinked with his own blood, but before he can try anything you push hard and you send Jake off balance, crashing into the wall behind him with a grunt. Before he can push himself away you grab his wrists and pin him, pressing your body flat up against him and holding him there. 

 Jake straight up _writhes_ against you, trying to kick and buck and get free, but you keep your body flush up against his. You turn your head a bit, the two of you close enough so that your lips brush up against the shell of his ear. Now that you have him trapped, you go back to the soothing words from before, keeping your voice nice and even.  

****

"Hey there, wild boy. We're just going to chill out here until you calm down, okay?"

But Jake is apparently not okay with that at all, because he opens his mouth and bites you _hard_ on the neck, right above the collar of your shirt. 

You grit your teeth and hiss out a swear because fuck that is _definitely_ going to leave a mark, but you're determined not to let Jake go again until he's sedated enough.  

Jake doesn't let go of your shoulder, biting down harder and gnawing at your skin and oh, this is getting hot _again_. Jake clearly doesn't know what he's doing to you, the way his chews on your neck and shakes his head back and forth like a dog with a fresh kill. But the biting and mouthing and warm wetness on your skin and the heat of Jake's body pressed against you is making the energy and adrenaline built up through your round of wrestling curl in a soft and pleasant warmth in your stomach. You try to close your eyes and ignore it, so you can focus on calming Jake down but then he bites you harder, and you can feel the sharp pain of the skin breaking under his teeth and it sends a surge of pleasure through you that makes you press up closer to him.

Well, you figure there is more than one way to help Jake expend all his energy.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are getting hotter and heavier up in here, yo. 
> 
> Thanks for all the comments and kudos so far!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After years of chatting online, Dirk finally convinces Jake to leave his island and come embrace the civilized world. However, the transition doesn't go as smoothly as Dirk had thought it would--as he soon discovers that while it is simple to take the boy out of the jungle, it is exponentially harder to take the jungle out of the boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a short chapter here, sorryyy uwu;;

 

 

 

Your name is Jake English, and you are currently in _quite_ the pickle. 

What had started off as a friendly bout of fisticuffs had evolved into something quite the contrary. You hadn't expected it to turn this way--it _wouldn't_ have if Dirk had not tried to be such an unsporting gent and run away from you! You hesitate to call your friend a coward because you certainly know the contrary, but in all honesty he has been behaving downright _caddish_ today. And now Dirk has you pinned against a wall due in no small part to his entirely underhanded and rascally antics. 

Though, as usual, you are still determined to win. An English never gives in, not even in the face of a formidable adversary like Strider. 

As it were, your teeth were currently sunk into Dirk's shoulder, and curse your bloody nubbly little incisors that isn't doing diddly-squat to get Dirk off of you! Not yet beaten, you shake your head, teeth digging further into Dirk's skin until you draw the slight taste of iron. You keep on gnawing, hoping that the pain will make him shirk away from you so you can again gain the upper hand.   

Suddenly, you hear Dirk let out a quiet puff of air, and then he is rolling his head to the side, exposing more of the freckled column of his neck to your predatory eyes. You glance up at Dirk's face, almost in shock. Was--was Dirk, _conceding_ to you? 

Dirk has his eyes closed, however, and his mouth slightly opened, so you have little visual cues to go on. You're not sure if this is some form of mainlander custom, but you _are_ quite sure that Dirk is intentionally showing you his neck--his vulnerable point. 

Your chum lets out another soft sound, and by dickens that is _certainly_ a noise of submission. Encouraged, you nibble further up Dirk's neck, mouthing him and biting and marking your territory with deep red blemishes. He lets out soft gasps and murmurs whenever you bite down, his body shuddering up against yours. 

Dirk is still keeping you pinned, and though outwardly you may look defeated, this certainly feels like a victory to you. _You_ are in charge right now, Dirk is conceding to _you_ and you feel _exhilarated._ You wriggle and your body thrums with adrenaline as you claim your reward. You keep breathing heavy against his neck, transitioning from biting and gnawing to just mouthing and teething lightly over the red welts on your friend's skin.  Dirk goes completely rigid against you as you--in a way all too gentle for a combatant of your caliber--trail your tongue over one series of marks as you move your mouth up under his jaw. 

"Dude." You hear Dirk's voice shudder, his eyelids slipping open a bit to show off a sliver of clouded orange. He looks down at you and you meet his eyes, lips and teeth fixed above his jugular. 

"Dude. Don't you go pulling all that tender shit unless you can handle the consequences."

You growl a little in reply and lightly nip at a reddened crescent on Dirk's skin, and he shudders and shakes his head. You dig in your teeth once again as Dirk tries to move his neck away, and you _feel_ him  grunt deep in his throat. And then you feel his warm whisper melt through the rushing in your ear again.  

"Can't go letting you play this game all by yourself, wild boy," He squeezes your wrists a bit tighter,"I'm pressing start on this shit--get ready for Player 2."

And then Dirk pins himself _harder_  and _tighter_ against you, and you feel a warm wetness on your own neck just as a leg is pressed up between your thighs. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, sorry for the slow buildup here, but I promise you it will be worth it!
> 
> In the mean time I want to take suggestions for wild boy behavior you perhaps want to see Jake exhibit, and how Dirk will respond. :0 I'm not going to guarantee I will use all of them since there's already a sort of plot set out, but I'm open to suggestions for little vignettes and what not. 
> 
> Thank you guys for the comments and kudos thus far!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After years of chatting online, Dirk finally convinces Jake to leave his island and come embrace the civilized world. However, the transition doesn't go as smoothly as Dirk had thought it would--as he soon discovers that while it is simple to take the boy out of the jungle, it is exponentially harder to take the jungle out of the boy.

You had started to lose your cool a bit when Jake had begun nipping and licking along your neck, but you quickly regathered your nerves long enough to retake control, pressing back up against Jake and pushing him more and more into the wall. You had slipped your thigh between his and before you knew it you had your own mouth fixed onto Jake's neck. You're not biting him nearly as hard as he was biting you, and instead you just mouth the twitchy muscles underneath Jake's skin with the lazy and languid pace of a cat. Jake lets out a frustrated whimper against your neck as you lick a trail up to his jaw, inching your thigh up until it's pressed against his crotch and _holy fuck_ your wild bro is hard. 

You wonder if Jake fully realizes just how aroused he is, and you wonder if you should stop, if this is wading past risky and friendship-breaking boundaries, but then Jake starts moving against your thigh and damn, he's dry humping your leg like a horny dog. He's whimpering a bit low in his throat, his voice gravelly and growly as he bucks and tries to gain friction against the fabric of your jeans. He releases your neck and moves his head until it hangs loosely to the side, giving you more room to work with. He still watches you, though, gaze still intense and feral even when darkened with arousal. You lock eyes with him as you bend down further to suck around his throat, feeling the bob of his Adam's apple move in your mouth as he swallows. 

Jake seems relaxed and sedated now, so you dare to release the hold you have on his wrists. When his hands move quickly away you are poised to react and defend yourself against his strikes, but his arms just flop down and relax around your shoulders, whining as he rubs up against you again with a little more energy. 

 You figure you could just stop right now, because Jake is practically putty in your arms, but he's also painfully hard and he looks stupidly adorable with his mouth slightly open and his tongue peeking out below his bigass goober teeth and his eyes that are practically begging in the same way that Jake begs for food, or excursions out into the city park, or ironic late-night snuggles on the couch. And damn, you can't say no, so you rationalize that maybe jerking Jake off will wipe him out for the rest of the evening so you can get a much needed break from jungle boy horseplay. 

So you move one hand up to Jake's should to keep him place in case he tries anything funny, and with the other you reach down and cup him right where he's squeezed around your thigh. Through his boxers you can feel practically his entirely length and you can't help but realize that _dang_ Jake is well hung and the very realization makes you swallow a warm and tight lump in your throat. 

Very quickly Jake goes from humping your leg to fucking your hand, letting out moans and whimpers and gasps that could be your name but could very well be some bastardization of pseudo-Cockney slang with a twang of Australia thrown in for good measure. One of Jake's hands fists into the hair at the nape of your neck while the other rests on your shoulders, and as you trail your mouth down to Jake's collarbones you realize that he's started to apply pressure to you; trying to push you down to your knees. You smirk against his chest and hold firm for a moment, earning a impatient groan from Jake, before you slowly begin to sink down, trailing your mouth over Jake's chest and stomach and the trail of wiry black hairs running down from his stomach--

\--To the waistband of his boxers, and you breath a little onto Jake's tented crotch before again rising to your feet, the slightest teasing smirk breaking through your blank face. 

The look Jake gives you is absolutely _murderous_ , and he starts opening his mouth to either snarl or tell you off for daring to stop when you go right for his crotch again, this time sliding your fingers below his waistband and grabbing his dick at the base. Jake's protest dies on his lips and his eyes screw shut.

"C-Cripes…" Jake hisses out through his gritted teeth, nails digging into your shoulder and your scalp as you start stroking him off. You're fast but gentle, wanting to milk Jake of his energy as quickly as you can without hurting him. 

 You can tell Jake is about to come, considering he has about a teaspoon of self control and endurance in his entire body, and when you feel Jake tremble in a full body shudder you squeeze onto his dick and feel him unwind into your hand. 

Jake collapses forward onto you, his arms gripping tightly about your neck to compensate for the fact that his legs have turned to jelly. He's breathing hard and hoarse against your neck, warm air scurrying over the ridges of the bites and sores that he left you on your skin. You leave on of your hands in his soaked boxers as the other comes up and rubs along his back. Wordlessly you hold him, limp and wiped of all his previous feral adrenaline. 

"Mmmm," You hum, stroking his spine as he gradually stops shivering. His cum is still thick and heavy on your hand, and he's going to need a new change of boxers pretty soon. As are you.

You try to straighten his boneless body up a bit, readjusting him so that one arm is thrown about your shoulders and you own is supporting him around the waist as you move away from the wall and start walking towards the bathroom.

"Let's get you cleaned up, dude."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, we're gonna keep chugging along here. Now that some smut is outta the way, we can start building more on their relationship....seems kind of backwards, but hey! It's Homestuck. uwu


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After years of chatting online, Dirk finally convinces Jake to leave his island and come embrace the civilized world. However, the transition doesn't go as smoothly as Dirk had thought it would--as he soon discovers that while it is simple to take the boy out of the jungle, it is exponentially harder to take the jungle out of the boy.

 

 

You pull Jake into the bathroom and sit him down on the toilet as you turn to the medicine cabinet and began rummaging through empty prescription bottles and old toothbrushes until you find the first aid kit you had on hand. Usually, you use it whenever something went haywire during your daily fuckaround with robotics, but lately it had been serving useful for your various Jake-related injuries.  

You open the first aid kit and set out the roll of gauze, disinfectant, and band-aids on the counter. Mentally, you go over every part of your body that hurts, touching and testing the areas that sting the most, but nothing outside of a couple of bruises that will easily heal on their own demand your attention. 

 You glance over at Jake and now that he's finally being calm and sedate you can fully take in the damage. Jake's lip is split open, and you feel your stomach turn a bit because you really didn't mean to headbutt him _that_ hard. But Jake hardly seems to notice, the way he's just looking off into space, his eyes barely flickering as he registers your movement. 

Wordlessly, you dab a bit of gauze with the disinfectant and lean down, putting one hand on Jake's shoulder. He starts a bit, his gaze lifting up and his eyes refocusing on you. For a minute you worry Jake is going to go Rambo on you again, but his glance is softer and more muted and he even gives you a sheepish smile. You take it as a sign to continue and lightly grasp his chin, lifting it a bit so you can dab and clean his bloodied lip. He winces a bit but otherwise bears his wounds like they're goddamn medals of honor. Once you take care of the lip you glance down over Jake's body, and you are unsurprised to see his forearms and calves are splotched with bruises and dotted with light scratches that you know didn't come from you. With the way Jake careens about the apartment, you wouldn't be shocked if Jake had accidentally clipped a coffee table or banged into the walls while turning sharp corners. You shake your head.

"Jake, I hate to break it to you and your wild boy cred, but sometimes your self-preservation instincts are way off the mark. They're practically hanging out in China at this point."

Jake snorts lightly at your comment, his lips curling in a slight grin. You gently pat his thigh and kneel down, cleaning all the scratches that you find and slapping band-aids on those that have started to bleed. Other than your robotics there are few other things that demand the most meticulous of your varying degrees of attention, but you've been through enough strifing sessions and rap battles that lived up to their name to realize the importance of properly cleaning anything that draws blood. 

After you're done, you ask Jake if there's any other places where he's hurting, but he shakes his head. You look up at his face and realize how damn _awkward_ he looks, and how red his face is, and then you remember that oh, _fuck, right--_ you actually kind of jerked him off back there.

Well, damn. 

You cough lightly to disrupt the quiet and Jake shifts awkwardly on the toilet seat, averting his eyes from yours. He moves again and let out an uncomfortable whine, and only then do you remember that _yeah, right_ , Jake came in his pants and his spooge is probably getting his boxers all nasty and stiff and dry up against his junk right about now. You put your hand on his thigh and push yourself up slowly. You even allow yourself to briefly pat his head when he looks up at you with pupils that are certainly more full and baby deer-like then they were back in your previous tussle. 

"Don't sweat it, bro. Lemme grab you a change of clothes."

Unfortunately for Jake (but rather fortunately for you) you haven't done laundry yet today, so all of your boxer shorts are filthy as fuck and not even suitable for a kid who spent most of his life rolling around in the mud and eating seagull. The only thing you had was the most ironic of all your ironically suteki panties--bright pink with a white lace pattern. You stand in your room for a moment, envisioning just how nice Jake's rear would look with these riding up his asscheeks, but you push down the warm feelings that that image arouses and you make your way back to the bathroom.

Jake blanches immediately upon seeing the sheer pink garment held in your hand, holding up his arms in a protesting "X" shape.  

"Now now, see here, Strider! I thought we agreed that I would have no more to do with that sort of thing!"

Not missing a beat, you stretch out the elastic of the panties and slingshot them at Jake, smacking him in the face and causing him to squeak indignantly. He pulls them down, clutching them tightly in his hand as his cheeks burn red. 

"Dirk…you surely can't be serious! These are hardly adequate adventuring trousers!"

You smirk at his indignation but change to a nonchalant shrug as he looks up at you in horror.

"Your choice, man. Unless you wanna be sleeping starkers tonight."

Jake almost seems to weigh that option for a moment, and your heart leaps a bit at the thought of him curled up in his sheets in his birthday suit, but he eventually concedes with a grumble, rising to his feet. He pulls the panties apart, examining them with distaste.

"Why must they have so many tiny ribbons, Strider? There is hardly any function to them!" His lower lip curls as he plucks at one of the many frills spilling over the top of the panties. 

"Whoa there, Mr. Oppressive," You hold up your hands in mock shock, "Beauty doesn't always need function, don't you know. Just because you've resigned yourself to shit-brown bun huggers doesn't mean the rest of the world's gotta conform to the same deal."

Jake rolls his eyes, bending over to pick up the spare clothes that you'd dumped on the floor.  

"All right, then. Out, Strider!" But you shake your head, sticking your hands in your pockets and standing firm.

"Really? I dunno if all that wrestling messed up your brain, there dude, but I did just jerk you off a couple of minutes ago. Pretty sure I know what's down there. Definitely got hands on experience in the enlightening field of Wild Boy Bonerations. Might even be interning there next summer."

Jake flushes at your words, spluttering. 

"F-Fine, then. At least turn around!"

You allow Jake that, and pirouette on your heels, giving your wild bro a berth of privacy. 

Well, at least on the outset. In reality, your shades are just reflective and ironically massive enough to watch Jake even with your back to him. And even though Jake is changing facing away from you, you still get a nice and clear view of that _ridiculously_ plush rump. Damn. If you bounced a quarter off of that you chance it could land somewhere in the Pacific. Maybe even pay a visit to Jake's island, let all his animal friends know how that ass was faring on the mainland. 

From the reflection in your glasses you can say without at doubt that that ass was faring very, very well with your civilized tastes. You watch as Jake bends down and peels his soiled underwear away from an ass that is surprisingly pale but still muscled and toned even with the plush perkiness of his cheeks. Of course your view is somewhat obstructed when Jake pulls the pink panties up, but that's quickly remedied by the way the sheer fabric hugs tightly to Jake's ass. 

You finally are allowed to turn around once Jake has pulled on the extra set of clothes that you had provided him--a pair of dark jeans and an extra white wifebeater of yours. You mourn the fact that you can no longer take in those fine thighs and well-shaped rear, but he looks good in your clothes--his bigger and bulkier body causing them to fit snugly in all the right places. But Jake doesn't seem as enthusiastic about the attire, swearing as he hops from foot to foot, stretching out and wiggling his legs against the tight, chafing fabric of your jeans. 

Jake frowns, turning his head and looking down over his shoulder. You raise an eyebrow. 

"What's up, bro? You growing a tail there or something?" Jake scowls further, straightening his glasses. 

"Don't be daft, Strider! It is just that this outfit is rather constricting!" Jake turns back towards you and tries to stick his hands into his pockets, grunting as he struggles to jam his fingers into the tight space. 

"Not at all suited for adventure in the slightest! And these pockets are utterly frivolous!"

Jake scratches his head, managing a tiny grin. 

"Though, I suppose this type of clothing for me is…how do you always say…? Ah--yes! _Ironic_." Then he grins wider at his own joke, eyes bunching up and closing a tad and holy _crap_ if Jake wasn't already adorable in your clothes he was seriously pushing into root canal territory here. 

"I dunno, Jakey, ain't nothing' ironic about how good you look." You give him a faint wolf whistle, "Dang, English. Where on your island did you find enough junk to fill up that fine trunk?"

Jake laughs at that, a bit nervously but still pretty genuine. He runs a hand through his ruffled hair, shrugging off your obviously flirty interlude like he's shaking away a fly. But that's all right--considering you just gave him the most rollicking handjob of his short wild boy life, you think it should be no problem working your way back from third  base to home plate. 

It's a little awkward between you and Jake for the rest of the night, but you convince him to watch _X-Men: United_ and at the first appearance of Mystique he seems to forget about all that as he relates to you exactly how they brought his beloved cerulean heartthrob to life on the screen. 

You sit quietly, indulging his babbling on about movie trivia, and part of you wishes you two had talked a little bit more about what had transpired today. Because you _definitely_ have a bad case of Jungle Fever but you're still not sure if Jake is just not into you or just oblivious enough to disregard a handjob from his best bro as a mere contrivance.

But then Jake slips down from a sitting position and settles his head into your lap, and you feel the warm contented brush of his breath against your thigh. And Jake stays in that position even when you lower your hand and begin gently petting at his hair, even daring to scratch him behind the ear, which results in a tickled mewl. 

You figure this is all right, for now. After all, Jake hasn't yet told you of any plans to return to his island. You still have time.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this kind of seems like the end, but trust me, there is a lot more to come! And eventually more sexytimes, I promise~


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After years of chatting online, Dirk finally convinces Jake to leave his island and come embrace the civilized world. However, the transition doesn't go as smoothly as Dirk had thought it would--as he soon discovers that while it is simple to take the boy out of the jungle, it is exponentially harder to take the jungle out of the boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is more of an exposition chapter, but there's a lot of cute fun stuff describing Dirk and Jake's everyday life (including belly rubs and food shenanigans) and some more of Jake's wild boy tendencies so....enjoy!! :)

 

 

In a couple of days Jake has more or less recovered from the episode of intense tussling. He'd apologized to you over and over about his behavior. He seems more convinced that your impromptu handjob was just you "doing what you had to do" to bring him back to his senses. And in a way, that's true. But in another way you know that that's absolute bullshit. You touched Jake because you wanted to, because you really do have it bad for the wild dork who's wriggled his way off of the computer screen and dropped smack dab in the middle of your life with his charming smile and flippant accent and love of short shorts. 

You don't feel it's really fair, though, to just come out and say _hey, bro, I kind of have it bad for you and you know that one time I jerked you off? Yeah, that was totally not some kind of weirdass mainlander custom I really just wanna throw you down and kiss your whimsical lights out_ so you keep a lid on it. You play off all your flirting as just as just some monad brotacular teasing, another minor skirmish in the great Gay Chicken War. And Jake seems to accept that for the most part, and it's all cool. You're cool. 

No, fuck. You're about as cool as Mercury right now. 

Jake still periodically engages you in a round of fisticuffs, but it's different than it was before. Jake tends to concede more easily to you know, and doesn't struggle as violently whenever you pin him down. You wonder if something fundamental in his messed-up wild boy psyche changed that day. He seems a bit more…well, _domesticated_ is like a shitty word to use to describe your best bro, but Jake is definitely more reserved than he was when he first came from his island. 

Jake still isn't entirely tame, though. You learned that once when you had jokingly put a hand over his mouth as he was babbling on about the nature show you two were watching and he had _snapped_ at you. Nor is he completely adjusted to civilized life. Despite his refined accent and self-proclaimed "gentlemanly" demeanor, Jake has the shittiest manners you've ever seen. He's completely perplexed at the concept of forks and knives and tends to just scoop his food up with his hands. Whenever you cook steak--well, "cook' seems like a bit of stretch 'cause Jake likes his steak still bleeding--for him he just grabs it, plops on the couch, and gnaws on it between comments about whatever episode of _Man vs. Wild_ happens to be on. 

Still, despite Jake's dearth of social skills, you don't like cooping him up in the apartment all day, so most of the time you take him with you grocery shopping--but you learn after the first trip that you have to keep an eye on him because Jake and mischief go together like peanut butter and chocolate. Sometimes he takes corners too fast and winds up knocking over a stand of jam jars, or pulls all the coupons out of those blinking red machines. You remember distinctly having to pay for twelve boxes of Boo Berry cereal after Jake tore them all open and scattered their contents all over the breakfast aisle. 

Really, Jake's affinity for blue can be frustrating as fuck at times. At first you think his amazement by the various colors of shampoos and body washes is cute, and you give in and buy him an armful of bright cerulean-colored conditioner. Which, of course, turns out to be a mistake when you walk into the bathroom one day to find the tub completely full of blue goop--an attempt, as Jake cordially explains, to brighten up the room with a positively stunning shade. That was one of those times where you had to close your eyes and imagine a couple thousand calm waterfalls to avoid going apeshit on your wild bro. 

So, yeah, sometimes Jake's behavior can really push your buttons. But there are other things about your wild boy that are so stupidly endearing that they make your heart melt into goop. Like when he stretches out in a sunny patch on the balcony and naps away the afternoon, his head tucked into his folded arms. Or when he gets pumpkin pie all over his face and hands and spends half an hour licking it all up.  

Even the blue thing is okay, sometimes, because the look on Jake's face when you buy him cookies with neon blue frosting, or spend hours sorting out all the blue M&Ms out is worth a thousand ruined bathtubs and then some. And when you pour a couple of candies out onto your palm and hold them out to Jake and he actually dips his head and legit _laps_ them up. The licking isn't something Jake has ever done before, and it takes you back the first time--but you soon realize that you definitely do enjoy it. 

And it's not just that, either--Jake's just starting to become more and more weirdly affectionate in general. It wigs you out a bit, the way Jake sometimes noses your cheek while you're eating dinner, or the way that he'll just flop down in your lap for no reason while you're watching TV. And you figure out soon enough that Jake likes it when you pet him while he's in the position. You map out all his sensitive spots--the soft spot beneath his ear, and  fuzzy nape of his neck--and become attuned to the contented noises that Jake makes. Petting his hair often results in a little sigh--scratching his scalp, a longer mewl. And sometimes when you stroke his hand long enough he'll wriggle and flip over on his back, arching his spine away from your lap. The first time he did it you had just stared at him like he had sprouted an extra pair of ears, but with those puppy dog eyes you had finally given in and rubbed your palm over his exposed stomach. Jake's loud guffaws had made you wonder whether he was just trolling you by acting like a damn puppy, but the subsequent wriggles and tiny breathy pants seemed to indicate he was enjoying it. And heck, you weren't about to deny him (nor yourself) a chance to indulge into some brotastic belly rubs and saccharine coos that you swear to Jake were only uttered for purely ironic reasons. 

The tummy rub sessions never last too long, because Jake tends to get bored and wander off, but whenever they happen do you definitely enjoy them. The way Jake wriggles and smiles with his tongue half out, the way his stomach quiver whenever you brush your fingers over its contours--

The dude has some pretty killer abs and _damn_ you gotta admit you like touching them.  

Jake is equal parts sexy and cute and wild, and you appreciate the heck out of all of them and the pleasing trichotomy they create. Like when he just crashes after a round of "exercising" up and down the apartment fire escape, wedging himself between the couch and the coffee table and snoozing contently away until you come across him. 

This is really the acid test of Jake's trust in you. In the beginning, whenever you as much as approached Jake in his sleep he would instantly start awake, spooked and alert. But now he barely stirs as you go to pick him up, laying all ragdoll against your chest as you carry him to his room and put him in bed. And even though Jake is still pretty much oblivious to your feelings, you figure that this scrap of trust will bloom into  _something_ in the long run. 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After years of chatting online, Dirk finally convinces Jake to leave his island and come embrace the civilized world. However, the transition doesn't go as smoothly as Dirk had thought it would--as he soon discovers that while it is simple to take the boy out of the jungle, it is exponentially harder to take the jungle out of the boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing wild boys being sad makes me sad. :( But it's necessary for character development! And at least Jake has an awesome chum to make him feel better :))

 

Sometimes Jake's wild boy antics are a little more than just endearing or annoying or precious as a cement mixer full of puppies, though. 

One night, you wake up to the sounds of rattling coming from the front of the apartment. You sit in bed for a moment, trying to calculate how quick you can flash to your sword, find the intruder, and whip off its head, but then you hear a couple of muffled swears in a very recognizable accent. 

You creep out of your bed and into the dark of the living room and sure enough, there's Jake, trying to fiddle with the myriad of locks and deadbolts you have fixed on the door. You'd installed them to keep out thieves and weirdos and to keep in rambunctious wild bros, and it looked like they were doing part of their job.

You flick on the lights and Jake jolts and spins around, his eyes blinking and squinting against the sudden brightness. When he sees you, his face falls into a weird expression--part shock, part guilt, and part disappointment. You walk forward, looking him up and down. He's got his day clothes on--jacket, cargo shorts, boots, and even those thigh holsters that usually make your heart flutter a tad. But right now they only help you put two and two together, and as you bend down to pick up a piece of paper that Jake had let slip from his fingers in his surprise the answer to the equation becomes perfectly clear. You raise an eyebrow as you look at him over the edge of the paper as you scan it.

"Thinking about blowin' this joint, Jakey boy?" Jake shakes his head, jabbing a finger at you. 

"I'll have you know, I was thinking no such thing!" He splutters, trying to grab at the piece of paper, but you pull it away. 

"Right." You put a hand on his shoulders to still him, keeping him at arms length, "So, what are these MapQuest directions from here to the Zoo for, then?"

You _tsk_ , crumpling the paper up in one hand and tossing it away. 

"What kind of adventurer needs directions? And from MapQuest, no less. Don't you know Google Maps is where it's at, bro?"

Jake falters, then shoves his hands in his pockets and looks away from you. He's got the silly airsoft guns you bought him strapped in his holsters, and you're starting to get a clearer picture of what he was actually trying to do. 

"Dude, you think they're just gonna let you in to fight the tigers, or whatever? Hate to break it to you, but that's not exactly how zoos work."

Jake's shoulders fall, and he starts to rub the back of his neck, a gesture that's both sheepish and sad.  

"I just--I figured I could get some adventuring in. It seemed like a roaring good time! And--" Jake bites his lip, awkwardly licking at the chapped skin. 

"To be honest, there's not too much adventuring to be had around here, sport. Sometimes it's right humdrum to be-- I--I mean--" He's stuttering again, rocking on his heels. "Don't get me wrong, it is downright chivalrous of you to be allowing me to stay here, really and truly, old friend, but I just…" 

He trails off, looking a little lost and tongue-tied. Ashamed that he's somehow debased your gracious hospitality. 

"…I figured, if I went, it would be a bit like home."

You take in a sharp breath, too quiet and quick for Jake to catch. So, that was it. Jake wanted to go to the zoo because it reminded him of back on his island, with all the dangerous fauna and overgrown flora and plethora of pumpkins and adventure and all that. You squeeze his shoulder. 

"Hold up. This _is_ home. You live here now, man."

Jake nods, agreeing with you, but its sad and shaken and it makes your stomach twist. Jake's fish out of water antics may be endearing and adorable to you sometimes but you forget that maybe this isn't always fun and games to Jake. He's lived in the same place, the same environment for _years_ , and suddenly's he's spirited away to someplace that's new and confined and honestly probably a bit _terrifying_ and hell, of course he's going to get homesick. 

"Hey." You put a hand on his shoulder, gently rubbing your thumb over his shirt, "You wanna wrestle a bit, bro? Might get your mind off things."

But Jake just shakes his head, shrugging his backpack off his shoulders and letting it fall with a thunk to the floor. He gives you a small smile that looks _wrong_ and makes you stomach clench a bit. 

"No, that's rather all right. I think I will just turn in for the night." He pulls away from your hand and starts undoing the holsters, letting them fall to a dejected pile around his ankles. Without another word, he trudges off, but you aren't gonna let Jake go off in such a bad way. Especially when you track him back to his room and find him sitting like a lifeless doll on the bed, staring at his hands. 

You approach him quietly, with all the nerve of a hunter approaching a spooked animal, and though Jake is your friend rather than your prey you still feel like he'll cut and run any second. Or just _break_ , if you're not careful. 

You sit down on the bed and slowly sidle up next to him. He acknowledges you with a slight tip of the head, but then goes back to staring listlessly at the ground. You reach up, carefully, and when he doesn't move again you allow yourself to gently pat his shoulder. 

" 'Sup, dude. You're looking pretty blue there, and not in a bombastic babe way."

Jake just sighs at your joke, deflating a bit more. You bite your lip, trying to think of a way to lift his spirits a bit. It sucks to see your wild bro so down. 

"You wanna watch some Steve Irwin? We still got a slice of pumpkin left in the fridge, too. Y'want that?"

You're relieved when Jake nods, pulling a tiny little smile as he looks up at you.

"T-That would be splendid, old bean."

So you guide him out of his room to the couch and turn on Animal Planet, leaving him snuggled up in the cushions as you load up the last slice of pumpkin pie with a glob of whipped cream. When you come back you grab a crumpled blanket up off the floor and toss it over his lap, handing him the plate and pie as you sit down. After a few moments of nibbling on the filling and watching Irwin wrestle crocodiles Jake seems to get a bit of his fire back, his eyes back to their usual lively temper. You keep your outward focus on the TV but periodically check on him out of the corner of your eye. During one of the periods where you're looking away, though, Jake surprised you by leaning across the space between the both of you on the couch and settling his head against your shoulder. You freeze, holding your calm even when Jake starts sleepily nuzzling at your shirt. After you swallow down a hot lump in your throat, you manage to worm your arm up and around the back of the couch, dangling just close enough to lightly brush your fingers against the nape of Jake's neck.

"Getting sleepy there, jungle boy?" You murmur to him, but the only response you get is some sleepy garble about tigers and pumpkins. 

You let him lie there against you a little longer until he goes boneless, only twitching slightly in his sleep. Little hypnic jerks, the only outside indicator of the no doubt fantastic adventures dream-Jake gets himself in to. You gently pet down his hair, lightly trying to tame and untangle it with your fingers until your mind starts going to mush as well. You turn off the drone of infomercials now drooling from the TV and carefully scoop Jake up. 

You carry him back to bed and lay him down. You start unlacing his thick boots, setting them beside each other at the foot of the bed before you work off his socks. Getting him tucked under the bed without disturbing dream-Jake takes a bit more maneuvering, but you manage it and get Jake all tucked in under his animal print bedsheets. You sit on the edge of the bed, watching him for a moment. Once or twice he snuffles and kicks out his feet, but he doesn't wake up. 

You think tomorrow you'll take him out of the apartment, and not just on a trip to the supermarket. Maybe there's a park or something close by where Jake can stretch his legs and run around for a bit. You think he definitely deserves it. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After years of chatting online, Dirk finally convinces Jake to leave his island and come embrace the civilized world. However, the transition doesn't go as smoothly as Dirk had thought it would--as he soon discovers that while it is simple to take the boy out of the jungle, it is exponentially harder to take the jungle out of the boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not really much to say here. This is kind of a bridge chapter, but there's some important stuff! As well as some ~foreshadowing~ oooooohhh :O

 

 

 

You stand in the kitchen, freshly awake and frying up a bit of bacon and eggs while Jake's favorite frosted blueberry PopTarts cook in the toaster. Jake is still asleep, but you know sooner or later the blended aromas will draw him out, the smell clearing sleep from his eyes as he greets you with a jaunty and disheveled smile. You huff quietly to yourself, letting out a breath you weren't aware you had been holding in.  

Really, you think you could use a smile right about know, considering the rough night you've had. You press a palm to your brow and sigh deeply. 

You hadn't had nightmares this frequently for--well, considering you hadn't _ever_ had nightmares before, this was definitely a novelty. No less notable was the fact that nearly all of the nightmares you had been having involved Jake in someway.

This time had been from the worst pool of dreams. The details were hazy, but you remembered standing by the crosswalk with Jake, and suddenly he had bolted like a scared animal, and you remembered the squeal of tires and a long drawn out horn and then a horrible _crunch_. And then there had been Jake broken and bleeding and _dead_ in the street and you had shook him and held him and tried to wake him up and--

It had been fuckin' horrible. You had woken up shaking and feeling sick to your stomach. It was still somersaulting right now, as the snatches of images you could remember from the dream drifted back into your mind's eye. It wasn't pretty--no matter how gorgeous Jake was in life the image of him maimed and bloody is still sick and awful and _ugly._  

But today, you were planning to take Jake out of the house, so there was no time to dwell on nightmares and dead Jakes. Especially since it hadn't been _real_ , and Jake was still alive. Jake was alive and breathing and shuffling into the kitchen right this moment, padding up beside you and settling his chin on your shoulder.

"Morning, Strider! I trust that you slept well, m'boy?"

You give him an noncommittal grunt and he laughs, smacking your side and nuzzling your shoulder. You gulp, his morning affection taking you by surprise, but you're saved by the spring of the toaster which makes Jake tense. You feel him jerk against you as his head swivels, the tiniest of warnings growls mumbling from between his teeth. You snicker a bit, and he whaps your sider again, harder this time. 

"Oh, shut your trap!" He pulls away from you, and you can hear him grumbling about the "infernal mechanism" and its "blasted skullduggery" as he cautiously eases his breakfast out of the toaster like it could at any moment grow teeth and snap down on his fingers. 

He goes to sit down and you click off the burner, shoveling the food all onto one plate. After awhile you learned it was a waste of time to set out two plates, because by the time Jake was through serving his hefty appetite, there was hardly enough food left for you to warrant washing an extra dish. It wasn't that big of a deal, usually a couple of strips of bacon and some scraps of eggs managed to escape Jake's Hoover-cum-mouth.  

Jake has already broken apart both PopTarts in his hands and is now stuffing them in his mouth, chewing and smiling at the same time and causing macerated pastry to spray out over the tabletop. You set down the plate of bacon and eggs and move your chair so you're just out of the line of fire of the crumb cannon, because while you wouldn't mind swapping spit with Jake, having it sprayed on your face along with globs of processed blueberry compote isn't exactly as wish-fulfilling. 

You wait a bit until Jake's chewing is less manic, so he can actually hear you over the clack of his own teeth tearing through yielding Kellog flesh. You tap gently on the table until Jake looks up at you, crumbs and blue splotches sticking to his cheeks. 

"I was thinking maybe we could go out today, dude." He cocks his head at you, darting his tongue out to lick a bit of pastry from his lip, "I mean, 's pretty nice out and all. Weather's downright Disneyesque. And I even found someplace out of the way. Open space, trees, grass, squirrels, the whole package. That all right with you, Tarzan?" 

He licks off his fingers and _beams_ at you as he reaches across the table and grabs a handful of bacon. 

"Sounds right splendid, Strider! I could certainly go for a spot of adventure!" He grins and winks at you, back at the same roughish schtick. Even though it's slightly hampered by the PopTart gloop still stuck to his lips and teeth. And as Jake is still rather baffled by the usefulness of napkins, you dab it away instead. Of course, he immediately shoves the bacon into his mouth after you pull away, rendering all your effort useless. 

After Jake is done decimating breakfast he hops up and immediately sets about preparing for your "adventure." You can hear him bustling in his room as you grab a couple of energy bars and water bottles and stuff them into a spare grocery bag. You pick your keys up off the counter and jangle them, as a _joke_ but of fuckin' course Jake comes bounding in on command, rapid footsteps thumping like an elephant stampede.

Jake is more lively than you've seen him in a few days. He's decked out in his full adventure gear--backpack full of God knows what, thick hiking boots, ridiculous ass-hugging shorts, and of course the twin airsoft guns sheathed in holsters and strapped tight to to his thighs. You almost want to tell him not to bring the guns but Jake looks so happy and excited so you don't and just give him and quick and casual "nice duds."

Jake is as jittery as a methhead without his fix during the time it takes for you to get from the apartment, down the stairs, through the lobby, and to your car. Once your inside, Jake is squirming so hard in his seat that it's nearly impossible for you to buckle him in properly. You already know that he thinks the very _idea_ of seat belts is entirely frivolous and would much prefer to go without one. But you strap him down despite his grumbling, because last time you'd let Jake ride untethered he had opened the car door while you were driving and was almost squashed into a wild boy pancake. You finally wrestle him under the strap and buckle his body tight, and he seems to calm for a moment. At least, until you start the car. You're pretty damn positive you stuck the key into the _ignition_ and not Jake, but from the way he immediately starts fidgeting and twisting and buzzing in excitement, you can't be totally sure. 

Jake always likes the window down, and though you try to tell him that you're going to be driving on the freeway he cheerfully ignores you, half hanging his head out the window even when the wind is whipping at his hair and nearly tearing off his glasses. 

But at least he's happy, guffawing at the elements and practically jumping out of his seat. You'll let him enjoy himself, because this is _his_ day, and you like that you can afford Jake the scrap of adventure you've managed to muster out of the local Texan underbrush. It'll probably wind up being pretty tame compared to the oversized fauna and pristine jungle of the island that he's used to, but you figure letting Jake climb some trees and chase after prairie dogs is better than nothing. Better than sitting on the couch and wistfully watching Jeff Corwin, in any case. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After years of chatting online, Dirk finally convinces Jake to leave his island and come embrace the civilized world. However, the transition doesn't go as smoothly as Dirk had thought it would--as he soon discovers that while it is simple to take the boy out of the jungle, it is exponentially harder to take the jungle out of the boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extremely sorry for the long wait! My fic muse abandoned me, plus I had a slew of meetups and conventions, and when all that was compounded with finals and essays I just had no time! But I'm back in the game now, with more wild boys! So yay~

  
After about an hour of driving, winding your way through the suburbs and cloistered strip malls and then backtracking through the boondocks, you scope out a suitable place and pull over into a small grassy clearing near the side of a dirt road. You'd lost smooth asphalt about five miles back, and though the bumping and jostling of the car had already begun to give you a killer neck ache, the rugged movements seemed to only invigorate Jake more. By the time you had put the car in park and reached over to unbuckle his seatbelt Jake was wriggling like mad, rocking back and forth with his eyes alight.  
  
You smile, chuckling. You really can't help yourself. He just looks so damn _excited_ , like Christmas had just come a thousand times over. You're not even sure Jake knows what Christmas is aside from what he learned from the  _Die Hard_ flicks, but whatever.  
  
Jake is pawing at the door and hollering at you to quit your dawdling, so you click open the locks and turn to make a snarky quip only to find that Jake's already flung open the door and taking off, tearing through the shrubbery and sending up clods of dirt and grass as he bounds towards the circle of cedars growing on the outskirts of the clearing.  
  
By the time you get out of the car and walk around to the other side Jake has already hefted himself on the lower branch of the nearest tree, balancing on the balls of his feet with all the grace of a big cat. Even from a fair distance you can see the flashing white of his teeth as he lets out a whoop and straightens up, reaching for the next overhanging branch.  
  
You cross your arms and lean up against the hood of your car, just watching Jake for the time being as he scales the tree. You're ready to flashstep over at a moment's notice in case he falls, but it looks like Jake doesn't really need you. All the awkward bumbling and cluelessness he exhibits back in the city has just seemed to have melted away with the must of the open air and clean scent of grass and wilderness.  
  
You feel a bit guilty for a moment, seeing just how happy Jake is out here. You feel horrible about every time you told him no, forbade him from trying to follow his wild instincts, even if you knew it was for his own safety. Jake is confined back at your apartment, and it's abundantly clear to you now that the open air is where he thrives. It's not right to keep him cooped up the way you do.  
  
Jake reaches the top of the tree in what must be record time, and beams cheerily down at you from the uppermost branch, waving and whooping loudly enough to send a couple of blackbirds fluttering and chattering in dismay. You wave back.  
  
Jake spends the next half hour or so leaping from branch to branch like a spidermonkey, long limbs and skillful hands scaling the trunks in no time. You can hear him talking to himself, narrating his own adventures as he leaps from the branches of one tree into those of an adjacent one. The boughs bend and sway under his weight but never break, though Jake has a couple of close calls that make you take a step away from the car, prepared to flash step and catch him. Despite his slips though, he never falls. It's a far cry from the Jake who gets caught up in the wires criss-crossing your floor like a cat tangled up in yarn.  
  
Eventually, Jake gets bored of climbing and jumps down off the lowest branch, flexing and stretching his arms a bit. He cracks his knuckles up over his head and starts off deeper into the grove of trees at a loping gait.  
  
You're about to open your mouth and shout to him, tell him not to stray too far off, when his voice booms out from the edge of the clearing.  
  
"Dirk! Dirk, come here!"  
  
You jog through the bushes, hopping over some boulders and downed logs until the trees start thinning again and the ground begins to slope downwards. You nearly run into Jake, who hops up to you the moment  you emerge from the trees, clapping you on the shoulder and pointing animatedly.  
  
"Will you look at that, chum! There's a little river here!"  
  
You look in the direction that he's pointing and indeed there is, though calling it a river, even a little one, seems a bit of a stretch. It's more a tiny stream cutting through the grassy bank, flanked by bits of moss and deep green flora and floored by a tile of pebbles.  
  
"What do you say to a quick dip, eh, Strider? A good old-fashioned plunge will do the body right!"  
  
Without any preamble Jake lifts his shirt up and practically tears it off before shrugging out of his shorts, mercifully leaving on his undergarments as he takes off towards the stream, only belatedly remembering to remove his shoes as he splashes into it. It's relatively shallow, but still enough to cover Jake's shoulders as he flops into the stream, sending up a large spray of water that make the stream slosh over it's bank. Laughing, he rolls onto his back, hollering at you once he still sees you fully dressed.  
  
"Come off it, Dirk! Nothing wrong with getting your feet wet, you blasted milksop!"  
  
You chuckle, bending down and untying your shoes, setting them neatly aside as you begin to roll up the cuffs of your jeans.  
  
"It's called having enough brains, Jake, to not charge open-mouthed into water that's in all likelihood infested with a host of protozoa just itching for a taste of prime Strider guts. And I'd really prefer not to shit blood tonight, thank you."  
  
Jake scoffs and rolls his eyes, splashing at you and getting the rolled up scrunch of your pant legs wet.  
  
"Toss the mysophobic balderdash, Dirk! If you so happen to contract some form of parasite from this bally little creek then I shall take full and complete responsibility. I'll even personally hold back your hair whenever you decide to purge the little buggers."  
  
He splashes you _again_ , and this time he soaks your pants from thigh to crotch and _that's it._ You flash-step into the water and next thing he knows he's spluttering from the mouthful of water you'd just tossed into his face.  
  
Birds caw and fly out of the nearby trees, feathers thoroughly ruffled by you and Jake's ensuing raucous show. You chase each other around the small stream, engaging in the splash war to end all splash wars. By the end of it, your clothes are entirely soaked, and Jake is floating flat on his back, chest heaving with exhilarated laughs as he runs his hand through his hair, swiping his wet bangs out of his eyes.  
  
Jake steadily falls into silence, and you watch him from the side of the stream as he aimlessly paddles in the water, a look of pure bliss and relaxation on his face. He leans back into a small waterfall formed over a clump of rocks, water flowing into his hair and running down the contours of his face, eventually puddling in droplets around his collarbone. When he catches you staring, he only grins.  
  
The sun creeps down from its topmost position and the shadows lengthen in the grass but you seem to lose track of time as you just--live with Jake. There's no caged confinement out here, and your barrier of irony, while still in place, is weakened by the soft brush of grass, the melodious chitter of birds, and the warm presence of Jake at your side as the two of you lie back on the hood of your car, metal heating your backs and sun drying your skin as you watch the clouds slowly drift above.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After years of chatting online, Dirk finally convinces Jake to leave his island and come embrace the civilized world. However, the transition doesn't go as smoothly as Dirk had thought it would--as he soon discovers that while it is simple to take the boy out of the jungle, it is exponentially harder to take the jungle out of the boy.

The memory of halcyon days like that--sitting out in the open air with Jake, tussling one another amidst the long grass, getting Shamrock shakes afterwards and indulging in some quality belly rub time when Jake complains that he ate too much--they're all you really have sometimes when things get harder and the sheer pressure of acclimating Jake to civilization starts to get to you.   
  
You care about Jake, you really do, there's absolutely no question of that. You would do anything for him, but that doesn't mean that you don't get _frustrated_ with him on occasion. And as time passes Jake tests your patience more and more and soon you find it's just _draining_ on you to have to constantly take care of him and make sure he stays out of trouble. Things that you use to find endearing, like the way he flips his lid at the sound of the doorbell, or the way he goes through your entire kitchen cabinets and asks you to explain all the culinary doohickeys there, now have become borderline infuriating to you.   
  
You had worried that one day you were going to snap, but largely you had maintained your overconfidence in the persistent, ice-smooth way that you'd handled Jake's shenanigans thus far. You had known that Jake was still pretty new to civilized life, and it was going to take awhile, and that you had to be patient, and that any fuck up on your part could screw everything up and send Jake running for the metaphorical hills with his tail between his legs.   
  
That fuck up came a lot sooner than you thought it would.    
  
One night, you two had been walking home from the supermarket since your car had decided to be a worthless piece of shit and not start. It'd been somewhat gloomy all day so it hadn't been too surprising to you when the first misty drops of rain had begun to fall.   
  
Jake had been a bit antsy all day, though you were perturbed as to why. You had been sure that he had storms on that tropical hellhole of his, and the fact that something as relatively innocuous as a Texan rainshower could spook him seemed pretty suspect. Though there had been plenty of cars with their windshields fogged up and rain-splattered screeching their breaks and honking at the two of you, so maybe his nerves had just been more on edge. He still wasn't entirely comfortable with the urban setting, and you had known that. You just hadn't really expected Jake to act so skittish, so much like a terrified rabbit.   
  
The storm and rain had gotten worse and worse the closer you two had gotten to your apartment, and you could see that it was starting to bother Jake more and more. He looked especially shaken after a man in a truck had blared his horn and shouted something awful at the two of you that you were glad Jake didn't have the colloquial knowhow to understand.   
  
You had managed to get a block from your apartment when the proverbial straw had broken the back of Jake's composure. Then the  thunder had clapped, and lightning had cracked across the sky, and Jake had _bolted._  
  
You had swore and called after Jake, but he hadn't been listening to you at all. Despite your longer legs he was still faster than you, and he had sprinted through the apartment lobby and up the stairs in the time it had taken you to stumble through the doors and stop to catch your breath. You had decided to take the elevator instead, but by the time you had arrived at the apartment Jake had already used the key card you'd given him to unlock the door, leaving it wide open and nearly hanging off its hinges. Upon entering the apartment you had nearly slipped on the puddles Jake had shook off his body. Biting back a growl, you had steadied yourself and set down the groceries, before following the wet trail Jake had left behind.   
  
You'd found him curled up and shivering in your bed, covers thrown up above his head. Your sheets had been filthy with the mud and rainwater he had tracked in, which had only served to raise your hackles more. Not even the tiny, throaty whimpers that emerged from the bundle had endeared you to his plight and fear of the thunderstorm. Normally you'd have been a bit more sensitive to Jake's needs and his more animal responses, but something had just _snapped_ in you this time. So instead of trying to soothe him or pet his head or defer to any of your other typical Jake-taming practices, you had thrown the blankets off of Jake's form and grabbed him by the wrist. You had tugged at him and told him to get off, and when he didn't you had yanked hard and pulled him off the bed, sending him sprawling to the floor.   
  
Jake definitely hadn't liked that. He had already been on edge as it were because of the storm, and to have you physically manhandle him like that hadn't done much for his nerves. He had opened his mouth and bared his teeth and _snarled_ at you, animal instincts in full force. Normally, that would have been enough to make you stop and back down and try to soothe him but you--you had been _done_. You'd told him to quit acting like a damn drama queen, and after you'd tugged on his arm one more time he'd snapped himself and gone for you calf. His teeth had been blunt but the kid had a strong jaw and it had smarted. You'd kicked out and caught him on a chin, stunning him just enough for you to reach down and grab him by the collar of his shirt and _shake_ him.   
  
You'd then toted him snarling and snapping and spitting and shouting the short distance to his room, where you'd unceremoniously tossed him in and dead bolted the door. The lock had shuddered and shook as he'd thrown himself against the door, howling your name, but you'd ignored it. You had been done being Jake's babysitter--done putting up with his jungle boy bullshit and done dealing with his culture shock-related temper tantrums. If he was going to act like an animal, then fuck, you were going to lock him up like one.   
  
You'd gone back to your room and had put on your headphones and had tried to sleep, the cries and noises of Jake trying to break free of his locked room eventually fading as you had fallen into restless dreams. You hadn't thought anything of it, you'd figured you could patch things up in the morning once you had cleared your head.   
  
But right now, you were cursing yourself over and over again for snapping, for having done something so stupid. Because you had woken up only a couple of minutes ago and decided to check on Jake and apologize for your asshattery, only to find the lock on the window busted and your best friend gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The drama is going to ramp up for a bit here, sit tight. :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After years of chatting online, Dirk finally convinces Jake to leave his island and come embrace the civilized world. However, the transition doesn't go as smoothly as Dirk had thought it would--as he soon discovers that while it is simple to take the boy out of the jungle, it is exponentially harder to take the jungle out of the boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are switching to Jake's POV briefly! I hope that's all right~

 

 

Your name is Jake English, and right now you are sca--

 _No_. 

No, no, no, no. 

Right now you may be caught outside in a blasted rainstorm that has the unfortunate tendency to rustle your nerves with cracks of lightning every minute or so, and you might be lost, and your best friend probably hates you, but you're not _scared_. Heroes never get scared. And you are certainly a hero, you had proved it over and over again on your island! This setting just provided a challenge that you needed to overcome! It truly was that _simple_. 

You can traipse this conundrum of urban claptrap with ease! That's not where your worry is at the moment. No, even as your feet slapp and slide against the slippery sidewalk and the witching hour cold sets into your bones, you can only think about how you had royally fucked up things with your best friend.  

Dirk had been furious with you back there. He had handled you like--like an _animal_ , throwing you in your room and locking you up. You had called out to him and tried to get him to open the door, but he'd never came back or let you out.  You had finally relented, slinking over to open your closet and extracting from it a couple of clothing items. You were never sure if Dirk was aware you had them--assorted garments snatched from his closet and gathered in a makeshift nest that you would go to whenever you were feeling particularly miffed and Dirk was either sleeping or too occupied with his ablutions to pay much attention to you. 

You had burrowed into his clothes and tried to push away the hurt and guilty feeling that you'd done something horribly wrong. You'd upset Dirk, clearly, and you felt utterly ashamed of that because it was Dirk who had invested so much time and effort and resources into bringing you from your island and keeping you happy and fed and with a roof above your head and you had returned his favors by angering him to the point where he felt the need to trap you like some beast. 

Dirk was frustrated with you and had been for awhile now, and that, _that_ more than anything proved that you really did not belong here. Dirk was trying his hardest to make you comfortable and welcome, but it seemed that you were a hopeless case in terms of acclimating to the customs of city life. After enduring what seemed like an eternity snuggled in Dirk's clothing and sniffling quietly into a particularly Strider-scented shirt, you'd finally convinced yourself that the _both_ of you would be better off if you just threw in the towel and returned to your home. Back where you weren't such a bleeding burden to your best bro every hour of the day. 

So you had pulled yourself together and worked open the lock on your window before shimmying down the fire escape with only the items you could fit into your backpack, nearly sliding down the rain-slicked stairs and falling right on your arse. You had recalled an idiom warning you about the dangers of such structures, and you had almost cracked a smile but then you remembered _who_ it was who had told you that. 

After that you had carefully descended until your feet touched the ground in the alleyway right outside of the apartment, and you had taken off, hoping your sense of direction (which was without compare back on your island) would take you in the direction of an airport, or a shipping yard, or….something. 

That had been a couple of hours ago, you estimate, considering the sky was beginning to grow a navy blue over your head and the stars visible behind the parting rainclouds were beginning to peter out one by one. Your only stroke of good fortune has been the fact that the rain has seemed to finally let up, as you've had no success finding a way back to your island yet. You've tried all the numbers in your phone (save Jane's and Roxy's, because you were certain the girls would tell Dirk where you were if you asked them for help) including the ones designated "EMERGENCY" but they had all hung up on you the moment you'd told them you needed to find a way back to Hellmurder Island. They'd assumed that you were trying to pull the wool over their eyes, which was absolutely ludicrous--you were only trying to find your way back home, not engaging in some nighttime tomfoolery!

You keep on looking despite the return of several intermittent showers, trudging through the baffling configuration of streets and signs and crosswalks, determined to at least make at least _some_ progress by the first cock's crow. Eventually, however, the hours without sleep begin to drain on you. By this time it appears you've wandered into a park of some sorts, one that you're sure you and Dirk had visited once so that you could stretch your legs without the cramping confinements of the apartment. Except now instead of being inhabited by jogging couples and friendly animals and children at play it is rife with mildly unnerving sounds and shadows that seem to materialize just out of the corner of your eyes. You see what appears to be people sleeping on benches with newspapers and piles of blankets, and they look so still and dead to the world that a trickle of fear creeps up your spine. 

Your eyes keep growing heavy, and you're tempted to just lie on the ground right now and go to sleep, but then you hear a gruff voice and a man with scraggly hair and a positively rank smell clinging to him seems to materialize out of the shadows and grab you. You don't even hear what he says to you, your ears buzzing with the sounds of your own terrified cry as you tear your arm out of his grasp and begin to _run_ until your heart is pounding in your chest and you're sobbing out ragged breaths of air. You don't remember ever being this scared of a _person_ , hell, you had once faced down an assault from one of those bleeding dragons and had hardly broken into perspiration! Later you would probably blame it on your frazzled nerves, but at the moment the random stranger in the darkness was as terrifying and villainous as any of the types of fauna you had ever encountered back on your island.

You sprint, not even daring to look behind you as you scope out a suitable place to hide. Once you land on your foot wrong and it bends at the ankle and hurts like the devil but you just keep running until you finally find what appears to be a rather large and low-boughed tree springing from the grass just to the side of the path. Fueled by your fearful adrenaline you grab onto the lowest branches and swing yourself up, not stopping your scale of the trunk despite the ache in your ankle until you feel sufficiently safe.

When you turn and look you find that there's no sign of the man below, and you're sure you must have outrun him awhile ago, but even that doesn't calm the trembling that shakes your body as you cling onto a particular sturdy branch. _Fuck_ , fuck, you just want to go home, back to your island, back to the apartment, back to Dirk, back to _anybody_ \--

You shakily try to situate yourself as best as you can, using the trunk and the branch you are sitting on as a makeshift resting place. Your ankle throbs, but you're far too exhausted to properly check on it now. You've slept in a tree before back on your island, and the bough is wide enough that you are in little danger of rolling over and falling off anyway, but your nerves still battle against your exhaustion and seem adamant to deny you the sleep you crave after such a stressful night. 

Your name is Jake English and sure, you may fancy yourself a hero. But right now you are indeed scared. You're scared and hurt and tired and all you really want is your best friend to come find you and take care of you. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After years of chatting online, Dirk finally convinces Jake to leave his island and come embrace the civilized world. However, the transition doesn't go as smoothly as Dirk had thought it would--as he soon discovers that while it is simple to take the boy out of the jungle, it is exponentially harder to take the jungle out of the boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeesh, I don't know why this chapter took so long. 
> 
> Another cliffhanger, sorry! D:

 

 

 

Your name is Jake English, and you've spent the better part of your day trying to find a way back home.

No, not back to your island. When you'd woken up this morning and mulled over your situation and your--your _feelings_ , you'd decided that it was a fool's venture to try to make it back to your island at this point. There was no way you would be able to navigate this urban deathtrap without some help. And with your luck, help didn't appear to be particularly forthcoming. 

So, before easing yourself slowly down the tree that had been your resting place for the better half of the morning, you had resolved to find your way back to Dirk's apartment. You'd figured in the daylight, it wouldn't be that hard. Unfortunately, your phone's battery had petered out, so you could call neither Jane nor Roxy nor Dirk nor any of your emergency numbers in order to receive help or directions. 

So you wind up wandering about in a daze for the better half of the day, feeling worn down and utterly exhausted, despite your somnambulant sojourn in the park. You've given up on finding a way back to your island for the most part--now, all you want is to be back at the apartment with Dirk. If he was here right now you'd swallow your pride and throw scores of apologies at his feet--anything that it would take to get him to forgive your wretched and damnable behavior from before!

You could tolerate any and all flat insults and ironic quips from Dirk right now, if it meant being back home and feel safe and--blast it, _protected_. You would never in a million years admit that, not as a gentleman of your caliber, but deep down you knew it was true. There was something about DIrk's presence, no matter what mood he was in, that just made you feel wanted and cared for. An angry Dirk was much better than no Dirk at all, and right now you had no Dirk and blast it, you felt so damn vulnerable. As you stalked the sideways, worming and limping your way through throngs of people, you periodically shut your eyes tight, hoping against all odds that when you open them, Dirk will magically appeared in have front of you, ready to whisk you back to the sanctuary of blue jelly beans and closet nets of worn jean and cotton. 

But there's no sign of Dirk, and by the time the sun passes over its apex, your stomach starts to rumble, and before long you're forced to swallow your pride as you dig through the garbage in one of the many alleyways you pass by, finally coming across a half-eaten burger and scarfing it down. You manage to suppress the lump in your throat as you choke it down because _digging through the garbage, blimey Dirk was right, you really are some kind of animal aren't you_?

__

After the sorry excuse for a meal your stomach ceases its botherations but in all honesty you don't feel that much better. You are still lonely and lost and practically scared out of your wits, even though it's no longer night and you are no longer being assailed by mysterious strangers in the park. You don't like this feeling of vulnerability, you don't like being apart from Dirk--despite having lived on an island by yourself for _years_ you've become acclimated to having someone constantly by your side and blast it, you need it, you need to find Dirk _right this instant!_

Despite yourself, you start to panic. The people on all sides of you seem to be bearing down upon your head, and you find that you can't take it. It's all too much beating at your now vulnerable core, rustling your nerves and spurring you into a growing paranoia. You began running at a loping gait, keeping most of the weight off of your foot as you stumble along, haphazardly racing about and praying on the odds that your madcap dash will eventually lead you to Dirk's doorstep---

In your haste, you find yourself forgetting nearly all of the rules that Dirk has tried to instill within you about maneuvering the trials of this urban gauntlet. You forget to be polite when you push past someone, and you forget that pushing people out of the way in the first place is not the most genial way to go about one's business. 

Most unfortunately of all, you forget that you're supposed to wait at the curb of the sidewalk until the little white walking man appears on the signal before attempting to cross the street. 

You forget that the orange hand means that you're not supposed to cross, and that automobiles are zipping across the street with little regard for potentially disobedient pedestrians. 

You forget that, while you might normally have been able to make it across the street at your normal barreling gait, you are currently hampered by an injured ankle that causes you to yelp out in pain and hunch down right in the middle of your mad dash towards the opposite sidewalk.

Before you have time to swear at your confounded ankle for giving out on you, a high pitched screech rends the air. You turn your head and suddenly your world is nothing but sleek metal and windshield and the split second smell of burning tires. 

Pain explodes in your side, everyone inch of your body suddenly feeling simultaneously numbed and on fire. The last thing you remember is the ear-shattering noise of what sounds like an animal screaming. 

You don't realize that it's you.  


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After years of chatting online, Dirk finally convinces Jake to leave his island and come embrace the civilized world. However, the transition doesn't go as smoothly as Dirk had thought it would--as he soon discovers that while it is simple to take the boy out of the jungle, it is exponentially harder to take the jungle out of the boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very sorry that this took so long! Con season and cosplay plans, as well as social life took it's toll. But I'm hopefully back to updating this!!
> 
> Enjoy :)

Your name is Dirk Strider, and if you don’t find Jake already dead you will kill him a thousand times over for making you worry so fucking much. 

You’ve been running through the streets of downtown Houston for about two hours now, searching for the runaway ignoramus with little to no luck. Apparently, Jake isn’t as distinct and memorable as you thought it he would be, and random passerbys didn’t remember the distinguished upward flick of Jake’s hair, nor the slight indent that his front teeth left on his lip, nor the slight bowlegged totter of his gait. And though part of you wanted to give it in already and leave Jake up to the elements, you quelled that thought because you knew that without you Jake would never find his way home, barring some intense kind of trauma or residual damage that you would ache to see lined into either Jake’s body or psyche. 

Two and a half hours in, however, you finally struck paydirt on the corner of A and 13th with a suspicious cluster of people and the fast approaching sound of a siren. 

You’d grabbed the arm of a well-dressed looking women clutching her purse to her chest and asked her what had happened there and she’d—she’d told you there’d be a hit and run on some kid, and you’re heart almost stops right there but you hang on to her words as she finishes. She tells you they’d tried to help the kid out but he’d lashed out at them  _like an animal before hobbling off_  she says and you tighten your grip and demand she tell you where he went, and she bites her lip for a moment before pointing and then you are off as if your sneakers had been affixed with rocket engines. 

You cup your hands around your mouth and call his name, eyes searching sweeping back and forth along the sidewalk and the thinning crowds of people.

Jake could have taken any one of the endlessly permutable street combinations—he could have gone left or right or straight, or left left right, or right left straight—so it’s going to be nigh impossible to find him in this tangled deathtrap but you can’t give up on finding Jake while he’s hurt and possibly  _dying,_ you just can’t—

The pounding of your feet against the concrete is beginning to make your legs and back ache, and your breath is growing ragged in your throat and you bend down with your hands on your knees and take a quick breather.

Then your eyes snap downward as something bright red catches your eye. 

There’s a splotch of blood, right next to a discarded cigarette butt and a blackened patch of gum. It’s a long shot, maybe, but the blood looks fresh and wet and as your eyes move up you see there’s a series of splatters  trailing away from you. It’s the only lead you have, and if that blood really is Jake’s that means he really is hurt and you need to get to him  _soon_. 

You weave your way through the crowd, trying to keep an eye on the trail of blood through the cloud of feet as you run. 

Suddenly, it disappears, and you  _stop_  in your track, head swiveling around as you look for it, and then you see the final splotch right in front of the alleyway you’d just sprinted by.

You grab onto the corner of the cross street and the cramped alley and pull yourself around until you have a decent view of the darkened space—you lift up your shades onto your brow and squint, trying to distinguish the trash cans and overfull plastic bags and other debris from anything distinctly anthropomorphic.

You take a couple of steps further into the alleyway, and as your eyes start to adjust to the low light, you can make out that one of the bags of detritus has arms and legs and a soft upward curl of hair. 

_Jake_. 

Your heart jams its way into your throat and stays there lodged like a baseball-sized tumor as you flash-step over. Your body is numbed with anticipatory nerves as you scrape to a halt in front of his static form.

Jake, oh god, Jake—

He’s curled up into a ball with his back against the wall, arms wrapped tight around his legs with his head buried into his knees. He’s bunched up far too tight and tense to be dead but he’s still not moving, maybe he’s in shock or something and if that’s the case then you need to get him up and get him to the hospital or something—

You’re shaking too much so you just let you legs fold and you hit your knees upon the ground.

“ _Jake_.” 

You try keeping your voice level and steady, trying to get your cool as shit Strider stoicism to work its magic even if your worry is beginning to avalanche into a veritable Everest of foreboding. 

You put his hands on his shoulders, slightly encouraged by the heat you feel emanating from under his clothes. 

“Jake, Jake please,  _wake up_.”

And wake up Jake does, though not at all in the way you were anticipating. 

Your only warning is a loud snarl that sounds so inhuman that your first instinct is to look about for some feral street dog heading your way but no, no it’s _Jake_  and you’re taken completely by surprise 

He unclenches his body from the tiny ball the moment you touch his shoulders and he lunges at you faster than you can react and properly fend him off. 

His hands grab and claw at your face as he shoves you over onto your back. Your shades clatter away from you and you are brought face to face with a Jake whose face is so twisted and lined with blind rage that he no longer looks like himself. 

He bares his teeth at you, and even though his canines are blunt and dull they still look fucking  _terrifying_ when paired with the carnal width of his eye whites and the pinpricks of pupil in his savage green. 

Jake wrestles with one of your hands and pins it down but you keep the other free to defend yourself as he growls deep in his throat and goes for the soft flesh around your trachea.  


End file.
